


A Day in The Life

by getchy



Category: Flight of the Conchords - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5325923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getchy/pseuds/getchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some little bits and pieces. I wrote this back in 2008, but I wanted to try to put some of my stuff all in one place!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day in The Life

Bret opens his eyes two minutes before the alarm is set to go off. It’s a weird thing that has been happening lately, probably because he’s been getting up to go to work at the same time for weeks on end. 

He rubs his sleepy eyes and pulls the curtain back a bit, looking out the window without getting up. Looks pretty sunny, maybe T-shirt weather. He’ll bring his tiger jumper just in case it gets cold. He likes that one, the inside his soft. And tigers are awesome, but that goes without saying, really.

He walks barefoot across the floor towards the bathroom. Jemaine is still sleeping, his face lost somewhere in the pillow. He would be worried about Jemaine’s breathing but he’s really, really got to pee. 

At the toilet he yawns so wide that he feels his jaw crack and he looks momentarily disgusted. It doesn’t hurt, but it sure sounded gross. He kind of wonders what it looks like in there. He ponders the idea of looking inside there, seeing what’s going on. He imagines a bunch of little guys trying to fix whatever is causing the cracking.

He hears his alarm go off in the next room, beeping obnoxiously though the relative silence of the apartment. He sometimes forgets it hasn’t gone off yet before he gets up, but he never feels bad about it because Jemaine should have to get up, too. Nevertheless, he runs into the room to turn it off, amazed that Jemaine hasn’t moved a muscle. 

Every time he opens or closes a door he checks over his shoulder to see if Jemaine’s woken up. It’s kind of a game, and he likes those. Maybe they can play Crazy Eights when he gets home later.

He slams the bathroom door. No luck.

He walks loudly across the floor. Jemaine doesn’t stir.

He says, “Jemaine” at various levels of loudness from a number of different places in the flat. His roommate sleeps on. 

Bret eventually loses interest in this game and wonders what sign he’ll be holding today. Last week he saw a guy on the street dressed up like Boba Fett, with a sign about free comics. He was amazed. And then later, when he went back, the guy was dressed up as Darth Vader.

The costume was so real looking that when Bret turned the corner and was face to face with him, he actually became startled. It was like he was a little kid again, watching the movies for the first time. He realizes he hasn’t told anyone about it yet, and figures he should remember to. Jemaine will be totally jealous.

He checks the time, and things are going ahead of schedule. He debates between watching an episode of The Dog Show and getting a tea on the way to work. He purses his lips in thought, scratching at his beard. 

“Tea,” He decides aloud. 

“Ugh,” Jemaine’s voice filters out from the bedroom. “Keep it down out there!” 

Bret smiles to himself and ties up his shoelaces, gabbing an apple heading out the door. He takes the route past Dave’s store to get to work, so he can get that tea he wants.

\---

Dave’s been awake for like a fucking hour, but the day is already well on its way to being a piece of shit. Someone ate his last toaster strudel, for starters. His waking thought had been, _Shit, I still have that one toaster strudel left_ , but by the time he got downstairs it’d been gone. He suspects his mother and her evil sweet tooth.

On top of that, he didn’t even get a hint of action last night when he went out. He thought for sure his new grey bandana would cause _some_ kind of interest from the ladies at the bar. Nada. Zilch. Fuck all. Which, more accurately, means fucking nobody. 

He stirs his cup of tea absently, watching the hot women in their little business outfits hurry by on their way to work. He sometimes wishes he worked in a job that offered a little more female interaction. He’s pretty sure all those business ladies in their outfits just want to screw around in the photo copy machine rooms, anyway. Why else would they dress so hot? 

The bell on the door rings and Dave looks over to see Bret walk in, halfway through an apple. He’s got some retarded tiger on his sweatshirt and pieces of apple in his beard and yeah, Dave is pretty much the nicest dude alive to be friends with this guy.

“Hey dude,” he greets him, though he has zero enthusiasm for his weird little friend. He looks at him for a second but then sees a hot woman stroll past the window, and he’s distracted again.

“I was wondering if I could get a tea, Dave,” Bret takes a huge bite out of his apple and looks around the store. Bret is always interested in the shit he carries.

“Yeah,” Dave says, and pours another cup of the tea he made a few minutes earlier. He wonders sometimes if he’s the coolest person Bret and Jemaine have ever met, and he’s pretty sure he is. “I banged a redhead last night,” he lies easily, handing the cup over. He doesn’t tell stories like this to be a dick or anything, he just feels like it’ll uphold his cool image if he tells a few stories every now and then. 

“Really?” Bret asks, and there is quiet amazement in his face. Dave can see Bret asking himself why _he_ wasn’t with a redheaded lady last night. 

“Yeah,” Dave nods, taking a sip of his tea and swallowing. “And the carpet matched the drapes, if you know what I mean.” 

Bret nods like he knows what he means. “That’s good. My mum used to have purple drapes and orange carpet,” he says, seriously, “Drove her nuts that they didn’t match.” 

Dave is literally speechless. 

“Anyway, I have to get to work,” Bret picks up his browning apple and his tea and heads towards the door, opening it with his back. “See ya, Dave,” He waves the apple and walks outside. A hot business lady checks out Bret’s ass as he strolls past and all Dave can do is curse out loud.

\---

He wouldn’t normally do this, but Murray has called in to work to tell them he’ll be late. Of course he takes his role at the New Zealand consulate very seriously, and he is in charge of a great number of very important things, but he’s got an issue he needs help with. He simply can’t go to work just yet.

He’s a thorough man, so he’s asked around before hand. Tested the waters among his closest friends, trying to decide who is the one that can help him out the most. He always does his homework, that’s just the way he operates. 

He parks the car in front of Dave’s store, checking the doors twice each to make sure they’re locked, and gets out. He thinks he sees Bret a block or two away, but that can’t be because according to his schedule Bret should be at work already. Before he goes into the shop he pulls out his trusty notebook, and writes _Bret late for work?_ , he pauses and looks at it, before adding: _needs firm talking to later._

He opens the door to Dave’s shop and is pleased by the little jingle that announces his arrival. Dave looks up and notices him and Murray immediately feels like Dave’s having a bit of a bad day. He looks quite angry, but there is a little bit of disbelief in his eyes, too. He’s got that look on his face that says _I can’t believe you of all people are in my store right now_ , and Murray is a little bit pleased he could be a surprise. 

“Hello David,” He greets him with a smile. After all, a smile might just be the trick to cheering Dave up.

Dave grunts at him and leans back over the counter, flipping through a magazine. Murray feels briefly like maybe he should leave, but spots a recording device in the corner of the room. It’s small and black and it has one of those tiny tapes inside. Suddenly he’s thinking about phasing the notebook out all together, just making notes on that thing instead. Ohh, now that would be exciting. He could put it in his pocket and have it at the ready whenever he had an important thought. He could be driving, walking, speed walking….

“Hey,” Dave interrupts his train of thought. “Are you going to buy anything or just poke around my shit all day?” Murray picks up the recorder and walks over to the counter, setting it down. 

Dave looks at the item and says, “Ten bucks.”

Murray pulls a crisp ten from his wallet and hands it over, and after the transaction is done he sees fit to go back to the real reason he’s in the store. “I was wondering if you could help me with something,” Murray leans in. There isn’t anyone else in the store who could be listening, but he feels better this way, “Regarding some personal business. My personal business.”

Dave stands up straight, his face scrunched up into an expression Murray can’t quite decipher. “What kind of business…” he asks.

“Bret and Jemaine told me you were the go to guy to go to for advice – of a romantic nature,” Murray says. This is really his last chance, and he hopes Dave will have something for him. Shelly has left again and he really needs to get back on the horse, as it were. “You know,” He lowers his voice, “Romance. To romancing a woman.”

Dave seems to think about this for a moment. “You need your nut busted,” he says.

Murray can’t believe Dave has misunderstood him. While Dave is hands down the coolest American he and the guys know, he sometimes has trouble understanding things. He wouldn’t make it a day in New Zealand. 

“No, no,” He waves his hand dismissively. “I have one of those little wooden men with the enormous hat at home for that.” At the confused look on Dave’s face, Murray elaborates, “He uses his mouth.” Murray bares his bottom teeth and opens his mouth a few times, trying to show Dave what he meant. 

“Sick,” Dave says, under his breath. “So you need a woman?” Dave picks up his cup and takes a sip of his drink. 

Relief floods over Murray. He’s finally getting through to Dave, and this will definitely help. Dave’s been with all kinds of women; Murray knows this because he’s heard about it through Jemaine and Bret. “Yes,” he says, nodding, “I need to find--”

“You’re getting a ticket, Murray,” Dave points past him, out the window. Well heck, it would only make sense that the moment he’s on the road to results when something like this would pop up. 

He grabs his new recorder and heads for the door. “Thanks, mate! We’ll finish this conversation later, aye!” He pushes open the heavy door, heading out into the street. He feels pretty secure in the knowledge that Dave will later help him find a nice new woman.

\---

She’s feeling a little sick today, but Mel isn’t going to let something like her throat swelling closed stop her from doing what she has to do. It’s Friday, so she’ll have to go to the university in the afternoon, but the morning is entirely hers.

The alarm goes off at six, and the sweet sounds of her Flight of the Conchords demo fill the room. Doug is missing from the bed, so she stretches out and listens to the song. Bret doesn’t wake up until around seven on the days he works, so she’s got time to get ready and be outside their place before he leaves. 

She listens happily to the song, her thoughts drifting to delicious places. Like that time she got a glimpse of Bret’s hip. Oh, it was so perfect! Or those glorious few days when the webcam was still set up. There was no sound, but she had seen Jemaine do a rather enthusiastic strip dance once while Bret was out. She sighs dreamily to herself.

“Mel, your breakfast is ready,” She hears her husband call from downstairs. Ugh, it’s almost like he knew he would ruin a perfectly good train of thought. What is his problem?

She gets dressed and she and Doug eat their scrambled eggs and toast in silence. He’s reading the paper and she’s wondering what Bret is having for breakfast. She wonders if Jemaine still faces Bret’s side of the room when he sleeps, or if that’s changed recently. 

She checks her watch, and it’s later than she thought. “Come on, Doug,” she says, standing up, suddenly feeling very urgent about getting out on time. Doug clears the remains off of their plates and puts his coat on. She bounces impatiently while he looks around the kitchen for something. _“Come on,_ ” she’s losing her patience now. What if Bret’s already gone?

She hops out of the car when they pull up in front of Bret and Jemaine’s place, trying to find the most casual area to place herself in. Maybe if she waits around the block, she can run into him on his way to work. She’s a little bit worried, because she’s running late, but sometimes Bret sleeps in and he’s late, too. 

It’s a nice sunny morning, which makes having a sore throat feel a little bit odd. She rubs at her neck, as if that can help at all. Maybe she’ll get Bret sick with her germs! They’ll have something to talk about in a few days. She could offer to nurse him to back to health…. It’s only fair. 

Feeling a little but sluggish, she takes a seat on the stoop of a building around the corner. Maybe if she says she has a hurt ankle, Bret will help her out. She holds onto her left ankle just in case he comes around the corner. It has to look realistic, obviously.

“Hey lady, you okay?” Some random guy has stopped in front of her. “You hurt yourself or something?” 

“Nooo,” she can’t help but roll her eyes. She wants him to leave. It would be just her luck that Bret would come around the corner, see that somebody is already taking care of her, and walk on by the work. “I’m fine, go away.” She waves her hand, motioning for him to keep on walking, keeping her eyes on the corner.

The man looks confused, but walks away.

That was close. That guy almost ruined everything. Now all she has to do is sit here and wait for Bret to go to work. She’ll have her hurt ankle, he’ll be her white knight, she’ll give him her cold and it will all be just perfect.

She pats her hair down and tries to look distressed.

\---

Luckily, Jemaine fell right back asleep after Bret’s tea outburst this morning. He gets another three hours before he really wakes up, feeling very hungry. His blankets are all twisted around his legs and he lets out a grumpy groan and kicks his feet until his legs are free.

He scratches himself and walks through the bathroom into the kitchen, stopping for a pee on the way. He looks at the bath tub briefly and decides he’s too lazy for a shower just yet.

Even though nobody is there to see him, and the webcams have been disabled, he drags his feet like a pouting child. It’s lonely without Bret around. What if he has a question about something? There, that’s a question right there. Who is going to answer him? 

He makes himself a pot of tea and sits down at the kitchen table. He could play Battleship, but that’s no fun when you’re by yourself. Solitaire is always an option, but he never remembers how to set it all up. He could always read the newspaper, but he hates reading, so that’s out. Maybe that Star Trek puzzle they got for a dollar a few days ago? They’ve been picking away at it since they got it. Captain Kirk is on it, which is kind of cool. Oh no, Bret had made him promise they would only do it together. After the band meeting, maybe?

He takes his tea into the living room and slides in a tape that Murray’s mum sent a few months ago. He’s already seen it a few dozen times, but he doesn’t really see any other option. He’s not very imaginative, but he thinks that someone who is imaginative would be painting a picture or something right now. He tries to picture what sort of thing he would paint, but his mind comes up blank. 

He takes in an episode of The Dog Show. He remembers the dog his mum has, and how loud it is. It always wanted something or other, and she would always yell at him to take it on walks. Pfft, well those days are long gone. He’s in America now, and he walks dogs for nobody.

Eventually he grows tired of the tape and there’s nothing to eat in the flat, so he gets dressed and heads outside. Going outside is always a bit of a gamble, since Mel has gotten exceptionally good at lurking around. Jemaine sees her husband Doug in the car, but there doesn’t appear to be any sign of Mel, since he’s been on the front steps for at least fifteen seconds and she hasn’t popped up yet.

“Hi Doug,” He walks over to the open window, looking over his shoulder as he does. It could very well be a trap. 

Doug is inside the car putting numbers into boxes on paper. Jemaine can’t really make sense of it, and he doesn’t really like numbers all that much so he doesn’t ask what that’s all about. 

“Oh, hey Jemaine,” Doug has a pleasant smile, but there is something odd about it, like it’s not real. Jemaine only smiles when he’s really happy or something really funny has happened. 

“What’s uh…. How are things?” Jemaine does another sweep of the area, looking out for Mel. He sort of regrets coming over now, since he is pretty bad at conversations.

“Good,” Doug says, looking up at him now. They are both silent for a long moment. Jemaine sticks his hands in his pockets and looks around again. “Mel’s just around the corner there,” Doug points in the direction he means, Jemaine follows his hand. 

“Oh. I’m going the other way,” Jemaine says firmly, nodding in that direction. Doug nods. “Well, nice seeing you, Doug,” Jemaine waves at him and hurries away, leaving Doug to his numbers and his weird smile and his crazy, crazy wife.

\---

Jemaine disappears around the corner and out of sight, looking over his shoulder every few steps, as if making sure he isn’t being watched. Doug is on his seventeenth sudoku now, and, he feels strangely proud of himself every time he finishes another one. It’s a little bit of a relief to have something he’s good at again, since he feels so terrible at doing everything else. He even let Mel sleep in a little too late today, which will probably prove disastrous later on.

He confidently places the numbers in the boxes where they belong. He doesn’t even need to do them in pencil anymore, he’s so good. He times himself with the car clock. Two minutes for that last one. He is a sudoku _machine_. He’s the sudokumeister. If only marriage was a little more like a sudoku. He would definitely know where the numbers went.

He moves the car every half hour or so, just to keep people from asking questions. He’s feeling a little bit adventurous today, so he takes it around the block once before parking it right in front of the guys’ building again. Mel doesn’t like him to leave his post; he’s supposed to keeping an eye out. If she knew he let Jemaine take off like he did, phew, he would be in big trouble.

Mel comes around the corner after waiting for a few hours. She looks stressed and annoyed. Doug puts his sudoku book away in the glove compartment before she gets into the car. 

“Where to now?” He asks, because its sort of his job as a chauffer slash husband.

Mel shrugs and buckles up her seatbelt. “I guess the university,” she says, looking past him at the doorway to the building. Her voice sounds all scratchy from her sore throat. “You didn’t see anything?” Her eyes flicker to him briefly, and he shakes his head.

“Nope,” He says, and starts up the engine. “How about we go get you some candies for your throat so you’ll feel better,” He says, because it’s just sort of his job as a husband slash chauffer. 

He pretends not to see her blow a kiss to the building as they drive away.

\---

It’s been a long day at the New Zealand consulate, and Greg has been watching the arms on the clock ticking away for the last hour. They get one casual Friday a month, and he’s opted to wear his Flight of the Conchords T-shirt today.

When Murray came in late and saw it, his face lit up. “Oho!” He said, excited. “Nice one, Greg!” 

The day hasn’t been anything special. He makes his calls, he writes his reports, he Googles party tricks when he should be working, and he answers to Murray’s constant paging. 

“Hey Greg,” Murray’s voice comes through the old speaker in the corner of his desk. “Do we have any of those highlighters that are a different colour on both ends?”

They do. He brings him a couple.

“Hey Greg,” The voice comes through again, later on. “Could you come in here, please?” 

He goes in. Murray’s chair feels a bit low, and he doesn’t know which knob will make it taller again. Turns the knob that does it is the only knob on the chair.

Evidently Murray is having a band meeting today. Jemaine comes in first, sipping on a Big Gulp from 7-Eleven and looking thoroughly unexcited, as usual. He offers a wave to Greg on his way into Murray’s office. 

Bret comes in about five minutes later, holding a huge sign that advertises a sale on coffee tables. Bret’s a little more talkative than Jemaine, at least offering an awkward smile and a hello before he disappears into Murray’s office. Greg is a little bit tempted to ask about the coffee table sale, but he goes back to Googling. 

Murray’s office isn’t that far from Greg’s desk, so he’s been an unwitting member of almost all of their band meetings so far. 

As usual, Murray begins with the role call. He reads their names. 

“Here,” says Jemaine.

“Yep,” says Bret.

"Annnd Murray," Murray finishes. 

Greg listens as Murray goes through the agenda. His first topic is something about Bret being spotted outside of Dave’s when he should have been at work. There is a long pause before Jemaine speaks up, sounding defensive. “It wasn’t me,” Jemaine says. 

“We’re not naming names, Bret!” Murray speaks up. “It was an anonymous tip, alright?” Greg judges by their silence that the Conchords have let it go. “Anyways, Bret, what are you doing being late for work? Never mind, I don’t want to know, just don’t let it happen again. Item two-” Murray’s voice pauses. “My new recorder! I got this from Dave, it should make me far more efficient, and we’ll have more items and things because of it.”

A coworker walks by and Greg picks up the phone, as if he’s about to call somebody important about something. He watches them retreat around the corner and puts the phone back in its cradle.

He hears Bret say, “It’s not doing anything.”

Jemaine’s voice follows, “Maybe it doesn’t work.”

“No,” Murray says, “it has to work. Dave just sold it to me today. The red button, Bret, press that one down.”

“It’s not doing anything, Murray,” Bret says.

“Maybe you need some batteries,” Jemaine suggests.

Murray’s voice crackles out of the speaker on the corner of his desk. “Greg, could you come in here, please?” 

He’s actually pretty excited. He likes being called into these band meetings, however briefly. In a weird way he craves the proximity. 

“What can I get you, Murray?” he leans in the door. Bret and Jemaine turn around in their chairs to look at him. Jemaine takes a loud sip of his Big Gulp.

“Greg, do we have any fresh batteries around here?” Murray asks, holding up an ancient looking tape recorder. Murray should have just gone digital, it would have made a lot more sense. Maybe he’ll get that for him for his next birthday, if he’s invited again.

“I’ll take a look,” Greg says, and Murray nods his thanks. Bret and Jemaine turn back around. 

“Alright, next on the agenda,” Murray looks down at the page in front of him. “I’m trying to get you guys a gig at a country and western bar. Do either of you own a leather vest?” 

Greg sets off on his mission. He knows there aren’t any batteries in the office, but it gives him a way to kill five minutes. He walks down the familiar halls, looking at carpet stains that have been there since before he even came here. Some of them are in the shapes of things… like the big black one near the water cooler looks like a decapitated teddy bear. 

By the time he gets back to Murray’s office, the band meeting is coming to an end. He tells Murray the bad news that there are no batteries in the office and goes back to his desk. He’s a little bit sad that he didn’t hear about the country and western bar item.

He hears the chairs moving a little bit and Bret and Jemaine walk out the door, pausing outside Murray’s office for a moment.

“Should we play Crazy Eights tonight?” Bret suggests. His sign is resting against his shoulder, his arm wrapped around Jemaine’s Big Gulp because its simply too big for one hand. He takes a huge sip of it and adjusts his hold.

“Ehhhh,” Jemaine says, fixing his jacket. “I thought we could finish Captain Kirks face tonight.” 

“Oh,” Bret shrugs, “That’s okay too.” 

Before they take off home, they turn and realize Greg is there, pretty much just watching them. 

“Cool shirt,” Jemaine comments, nodding at him. Bret finally realizes what he’s wearing and smiles almost as wide as Murray did earlier. The two of them fall into sync and head off towards the elevator and Greg feels a little bit jealous. They’re pretty much the coolest guys he knows.

“Have a good day, Greg,” Bret tries to wave goodbye from outside the elevators.

Bret’s request of him is pretty late in the game, because the clock is almost at five and the day is almost over. But he figures, yeah, he’s had a pretty good day. 

“Greg,” Murray’s voice comes loud from inside his office, interrupting his thoughts. “Greg, I think the intercom is broken!” 

It was an ordinary day, at least. Nothing really wrong with that.


End file.
